


I Hope It Rots You

by cicerhoe



Category: French History RPF, French Revolution RPF
Genre: M/M, Other, hi join me in my suffering, kind of implied pairing anyways, mentions of wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:36:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicerhoe/pseuds/cicerhoe
Summary: Maximilien's guilt after Camille's execution is eating away at him. Nightmares are just one of many ways it chooses to manifest itself.





	I Hope It Rots You

**Author's Note:**

> Constantly I'm asking myself 'Where is all the Camille and Robespierre content?' So here I am. Just something short I wrote in about fifteen minutes to get out my emotions. I love these tragic boys.

_Why did you do it, Maxime? Why did you let me die?_

It’s said in a strained, ghostly whisper as Maximilien stands there in the darkness, eyes wide, a frantic air about him. “Camille? Camille? Is that you? Is that–”

_You could have stopped it! You had every chance to stop it. So why didn’t you?_

Maximilien swallows. “I did what I had to,” he whispers into nothingness. He still can’t tell the source of the voice. It’s all around him, choking him, suffocating him. “I did it because–because..” Could he even justify himself? Could he even strain to think of why? _Because I didn’t agree with you? Because I was angry? Because I let it go too far?_

Breathe. _Breathe._

He can’t breathe.

Suddenly, a ghostly apparition appears before Maximilien. It’s…Camille. But it’s not. It’s not. Because he looks ghastly. Because blood seeps from a wound on his neck and stains the white of his shirt. Because he looks angry, _angry,_ _**angry**_...and sad..and..and every emotion all at once. Maximilien resists the urge to scream. He steps back. His head is spinning.

“What, Maxime? Can’t face what you’ve done? Come closer. Look at me.” The voice comes from Camille’s mouth, but it still echoes all around Maximilien, a cacophony of noise. “This is your doing. You could’ve saved me. You could’ve saved Georges. But did you? No. You didn’t. You killed us, Maxime. You killed us. You did it. Did Saint-Just really have you wrapped around his finger so much that he turned you against us? Answer me, Maximilien!”

Maximilien blanches, face as pale as a sheet. He opens his mouth, but he chokes on the words. They stick in his throat like a dry piece of bread. The apparition of his friend, his lover, laughs. “Aw, Maxime…the guilt is eating you alive. I hope it kills you. I hope it rots you from the inside out.”

Camille laughs then, blood pouring from his mouth, eyes dark black holes. The wound on his neck gapes open and he falls to the ground like a rag doll.

Maximilien wakes up screaming.

“It was just a dream, it was a dream, it was..” It wasn’t real. Maximilien still hears it, though. Still hears Camille laughing, hears his accusations. Tears well in Maximilien’s eyes, and he takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t quite fill his lungs.

_I hope it kills you. I hope it rots you from the inside out._

Maybe the guilt already had. Maybe that’s all it would take, after all.


End file.
